


Control

by Colorhersunshine



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-11 09:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11711814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colorhersunshine/pseuds/Colorhersunshine
Summary: Well that's the end of it! I know it's a rather short ending, hopefully it does it justice. There's no point in rambling on, like I'm doing right now! Thanks for sticking around and leaving me comments. While this little thing was only three chapters, I have other plans concerning this. When it will be started, who knows? But don't be afraid to drop me a comment from time to time if you want to hold me accountable. May you have a Rogan filled day!





	1. Chapter 1

When she morphs into Rogue, guilt cascades over him. The feeling isn’t instant, it undulates through his body, leaving a heavy feeling in his chest. He goes rigid under her, trying to look as if he feels nothing at all, but the woman under the skin knows.

Her smile would have been innocent if it were Marie, but it’s only her face. Mystique-as-Rogue’s smile stirs another feeling in him, this time a more familiar one. Anger.

“What do you want?” She asks, morphing into someone else now.

Now that Marie’s face is gone, he gets a grip on himself and pushes her off.

“I want you to leave.” He says, a certain grit in his voice letting her know he’s not in the mood for her games.

However, she takes the action personally. It hurts more than feeling his claws rip through her abdomen. The pain of rejection was not only for Logan tonight. If Mystique wanted to play games with him, he should make her feel it too. The game became his.

She silently got to her feet and left him in his tent, forcing him to analyze the situation.

It wasn’t Jean’s rejection that left him feeling this way. In fact, Jean was more a crucible. She was a committed woman, yet it seemed more appropriate to shift his feelings of lust onto her rather than who it was really for. It was easy to make the transition. Rogue had red hair, Jean had red hair, and the fact that her fiancée was Scott had made it even easier. The contempt he had for her fiancée lessened the guilt from barely anything to nothing.

Yet this mixture of guilt and anger he’d been left with made him want to leave that game with her entirely. It hurt when he was on the receiving end.

He rubbed his dog tags with the pad of his thumb as if they were worry stones. While it seemed to be an appropriate action, it served two purposes. One was to calm him down, and the second was to extinguish the smell of Marie on them.

When he’d gotten them back, he expected them to smell like oak with a hint of Marie, a sweet feminine smell that he never had the pleasure of knowing until her.

He imagined that she kept them in her night table, and when she handed them back, only a trace amount of her would linger.

But that didn’t seem to be the case. It seemed the more his skin warmed the cold metal, the more concentrated her scent became. She’d worn them. She’d missed him.

And he’d be lying if he claimed to feel different.

The guilt that had risen inside him was over missing her so much. She wasn’t his to miss. She wasn’t his. Yet she could be, and so easily too. He wouldn’t even have to ask.

That’s why it was wrong, the dynamic between them would never be equal. While Rogue could cripple him so easily with just a three second touch, it was her mind that was the problem. She would do anything for him, even if he asked too much of her. And how could he do that to her?

The rejection was not from Jean. Not even Rogue herself. It was his own. His attempt to dull his hedonism. Alcohol did nothing but provide a bitter taste, cigars were at first to keep his mouth out of trouble and now were just there, and sex was just recreational. None of this impacted his health, and the frequent indulgences became novelty.

Wanting Rogue had become his new vice, one that sparked up the same feeling every time. The anger, the guilt, and the insane need to feel it over and over again.

Mystique wearing Rogue as a costume had ruined it. It made this silent addiction he had become apparent. He knew who was under the skin, but damn was it tempting.

When he’d touched the new silver streaks in Rogue’s hair, he thought he took it too far. But her content smile grounded him. It wasn’t the same one Mystique wore.

He let the dog tags go. There were more important matters to tend to. Maybe if he could remember his past, he could decide if he was a person worthy of having Marie. Stryker held that information though, not him.

Yet this also made him afraid to know—what if he wasn’t worthy? Did he want to know? Yes. He needed to, for them both.

***

When she touched him, the pain of being impaled by his claws was replaced by something new. It flooded her synapses, firing them off in rapid succession. The wounds healed, but something else was left behind. Something more painful, something sinister.

Never had she felt such a terrifying energy before. How could Logan possibly hold such a thing? She let him go, and his body smacked the floor with an audible thud and she could see the contortion on his face.

Was it her power causing the pain? Or the absence of what she extracted from him?

People began to flood into the room, tending to her and him. Physically, she was fine, Logan was the one writhing on the floor in agony.

She was an idiot. Not for trying to wake him from his nightmare. And not for borrowing his healing factor to mend herself.

But this flood of awful energy was not enough to change how she felt about him. If anything, she now knew that he was constantly fighting an internal battle. The man who saved her was the result of the man who was winning it.

Yet the possibility of meeting the man who was losing it intrigued her too.


	2. Chapter 2

She finds herself thinking about him most days. In fact, she’s convinced that he’s become her obsession. Yet, he’s somehow more than that too. His absence just makes him seem like an obsession, because he’s not here to be more than that.

When he first left, his image was still fresh in her head. The gruff voice that softened ever so slightly when he addressed her. His willingness to touch her—instructing her to warm her hands when he didn’t know the danger that touching her entailed. That moment on the train when he let her rest her head on his shoulder, baring her soul about how she kissed someone she liked and drew the life out of him. Yet even though he’d felt that force, he still touched her, giving a part of himself to her to save her. She knew that you didn’t meet people like that often.

He gave her yet another part of him when he said he was leaving, the dog tags that were more than just a part of his ensemble. It was a promise to return. She wondered if he would return just for them, or if it was for her. But that was a slippery slope.

Any girl would understand an attraction to Logan. However, Rogue’s was deeper. Everything she felt for Logan had a name, but it was deeper. But he’d been gone so long that he was fading.

Her relationship with Bobby was on a completely different axis. He was just a boy who helped her pass the time. Yet his new role in her life might have been responsible for the blur that Logan was becoming in her head.

He didn’t know that she wore the dog tags beneath her shirt. That she only took them off when she showered out of respect for Logan’s property. That she’d fall asleep with them clutched in her hand, desperate to somehow connect to him. Where was he? What was he doing? And a question that actually hurt the most: Who was he doing?

She’d seen how he acted around Jean, how he looked at her. She believed she was delusional enough to see through the façade. Jean was pretty, sure. But that’s all she was to him. He didn’t leave a part of him with her.

She laid in bed, clutching the tags as she pondered what all of this meant. In the middle of it all, a wicked idea came into her head.

She released the dog tags, letting them rest in the valley of her chest. Her eyes closed and she let herself relax, almost as if she would melt into her mattress.

A tiny little crackle went off under her skin, and began to ignite something within her. It starts out slow, a throb, and when it progresses, it burns. Searing her nervous system as it roars through her body.

She can’t move, it’s so unbelievably painful, yet it’s him. It’s from him. She’d gained it through a touch and saved it for later. The pain of missing him needed to be drowned by the pain that came from his essence.

It was a form of intimacy, getting to know the pain of someone else. Right now, it was one of her last vestiges of him. It was something her relationship with Bobby couldn’t erase. Bobby’s ice couldn’t even begin to cool down the fire that burned in Logan. This force…it was impenetrable. So impenetrable that the pain was becoming overwhelming and yet it wouldn’t stop. She was losing herself in it, letting it engulf her.

The paralysis was one thing, but it seemed as if her mind was slipping away, becoming branded by the terrifying energy Logan hadn’t known he’d transmitted to her.

She didn’t know where she began and Logan ended. And God, was she so far gone to enjoy the idea of that? Right when she was about to savor that delicious thought, possibly as one of her last as “just Marie”, it seized up. As if her mind knew that this was dangerous territory.

The immense heat began to settle into the throb, and that too, dissolved. When the retreat was final, it was only her that was left. Even when he wasn’t here, he still found a way to protect her.

***

He sees the vat of brilliant silver liquid, bubbling slowly in the container. His curiosity tells him to touch it, but his logic warns him against it. The smell of it permeates the room and a few more seconds of standing near it tells him it’s hot.

“Adamantium.” The rough voice of Stryker cuts through the near perfect silence.

The confusion on Logan’s face seems to amuse him, and rather than continue to give this man any satisfaction, Logan turned his attention back to the vat.

“You have to keep it hot. When you let it cool…it becomes…indestructible.” Stryker went on to explain.

To anyone else, it would sound like useless bar trivia. But for Logan, it became something else.

He stared at the hot liquid, and soon he felt as if he were drowning in it. The immense heat penetrating his skin to flow through his body. He could feel it spread and once it reached every square inch of him, it hardened. As it did, he could feel how heavy it was, weighing him down.

He gasped.

“You remembered. This is the stuff that coats the Wolverine’s bones.”

“Why did you do it?” Logan asked, opening his eyes. He didn’t remember closing them.

“You were a willing participant, if I remember correctly. You were the one who wanted it.”

Stryker’s words seeped into his ears where they became lodged in his brain. He signed up for becoming a human weapon, for becoming part of the cause that was trying to wipe out people like him and likely eventually him too.

And here he was, at the conclusion he feared coming to. A man who willingly became a weapon to be used against his own kind. A man who might have been molded to kill indiscriminately.

He’d given up what it meant to be human and just because he was holding his own right now, didn’t mean that it would stay that way.

One day, he could be helping Xavier and the kids, the next day he could be shredding them all up.

Right now, Logan was in control. However, the name on his tags, “Wolverine”, if he ever came back…god knows what would happen.


	3. Chapter 3

The choice seems so simple right now, presented to him with perfect clarity. It’s an epiphany, and it happens when he sees Stryker chained to a wall.

To anyone else, this would be just desserts, but it was more symbolic for Logan. The man who turned him into a beast was the one chained up.

Logan had his own chains, internally. He didn’t know how long they would last or if the Wolverine would claw his way out one day, but he was willing to take his chances.

He takes the tags that dangle from his neck, still faint with the smell of Rogue. The corner of his mouth quirks a bit, a surge of emotion at the thought of the girl who once clung to these for him. He didn’t come back for them, he came back for her.

He looks Stryker in the eye as he throws them to the ground, he makes his choice. It’s Rogue. He chooses her over it all, and even though he doesn’t know what’s trapped inside of him, he knows to keep it away from her at all costs.

***

She can see that the pain of this loss has pierced him a certain way. The whole mansion felt off, the atmosphere different. The storm clouds that lingered everyday might have been coincidental, or perhaps Ororo had her guard down, letting how she felt take control of nature. Charles often seemed distant when teaching, sometimes stopping mid-sentence, then picking back up seconds later. Scott locked himself away. And Rogue understood that. The loss was mostly his.

So why was Logan acting the same way? What did he lose when Jean sacrificed herself?

As she contemplated these thoughts, the beginning ache of him rose in her skin. And then she understood.

Jean was the apex of control. When she looked over Rogue upon her arrival, she’d noted her clinical demeanor. Glasses that sat on the bridge of her nose a certain way. Crisp lab coats, shined shoes, and neatly stocked cabinets. She was the antithesis of Logan.

Logan who took giant swigs of alcohol in between rounds of boxing matches. Logan who’d stolen Scott’s bike more than once. Logan who wore scuffed leather shoes, and a leather jacket that had seen better days.

Logan lost his image of control. Perhaps it was the Logan she obtained swirling around in her, messing with her emotions, but she began to feel a pang of sadness hit her too.

If she could control her mutation, she’d be able to touch Logan the way she wanted to since Laughlin City.

The way his back glistened with sweat as the light shone on him in the makeshift ring. How she’d wanted to feel the damp skin under her fingers, nip at the notch where his collarbones met, trail her fingers down the broad expanse of his chest and the hard ripples displayed on his stomach. If she could touch him, would he let her?

She liked to think he would. That even without her deadly skin, he’d be complicit with her touch. That her power would be rooted in her sex.

But if she could touch him, if that feeling she felt when she touched him arose in him, she’d be unable to stop him.

What was it? And now that Jean was gone…was it coming back?

Only time would tell. If it ever did come out, she’d felt it too. And she liked to believe she’d help him. They could lose control together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's the end of it! I know it's a rather short ending, hopefully it does it justice. There's no point in rambling on, like I'm doing right now! Thanks for sticking around and leaving me comments. While this little thing was only three chapters, I have other plans concerning this. When it will be started, who knows? But don't be afraid to drop me a comment from time to time if you want to hold me accountable. May you have a Rogan filled day!


End file.
